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* IRL5 AND BOYS 

By 

ANATOLE FRANCE 



Class T* Zjl 

Book 5“ 

Copyright M?__^ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 












































































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GIRLS AND BOYS 



GIRLS AND BOYS 


Scenes from the Country and the Town 

BY 

ANATOLE FRANCE 


Illustrated in color and in pen and ink by 

BOUTET de MONVEL 



NEW YORK 

DUFFIELD & COMPANY 

1913 


Copyright, 1913 
By DUFFIELD & COMPANY 



0CI.A358O53 


CONTENTS 

Convalescence i 

Across the Fields 4 

The Review 10 

Dead Leaves 12 

Suzanne 14 

Fishing .' 16 

Big Boy's Faults 18 

The Little Dinner. 20 

The Artist 22 

Jacqueline and Miraut. 24 


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GIRLS AND BOYS 


CONVALESCENCE 


Poor Germaine has had a little sick turn. Nobody knows how it happened. 
The invisible arm that sows the seeds of fever is like the hand of the old sand 



man who comes each evening and throws sand in little children’s eyes to make 
them sleepy. But Germaine has not been sick long and she did not suffer much, 
and here she is getting well again, a convalescent. Getting well is really much 


2 


GIRLS AND BOYS 


nicer than being all well at the beginning. You imagine all sorts of good things it 
would be nice to have and this hoping and longing for things when you’re getting 


well is much nicer really than the 
things themselves would be if you 



blue room, and her dreams are as pretty as the room. Her eyes are still a bit 



IBM* 

tired as she looks at her dolly lying near her. There is a very deep sympathy be- 
tween little girls and their dollies. Germaine’s dolly has been sick at the same 







' - •* •?>. A. \ ' 


LUCIE 


EST LA AIEILLEURE DES 


SCEURS, 


PENDANT LES NEUF 


JOURS QU’A DURE LA MALA DIE 


DE GERMAINE, LUCIE EST VENUE 


DANS LA CHAMBRE BLEUE. ELLE 


A VOULU APPORTER ELLE-MEME 


LA TISANE A LA PETITE MALADE 


































CONVALESCENCE 


3 

time as her little mother, and now she is getting well again at the same time. 
She is going out for her first ride with Germaine this afternoon in the carriage. 

The dolly has had a visit from her doctor too. Dr. Alfred came in style and 
felt her pulse. Dr. Very-Much-Worse you might almost call him, for he talked of 
nothing but cutting off her arms and legs. Germaine begged so hard that he 
consented to cure the dolly without cutting her all up, and only prescribed nice, 
gentle little doses for her. 



There is one thing about being sick: it makes you know your friends. Ger- 
maine knows now that she can count on that nice Alfred. She knows too that her 
sister Lucy is the best of sisters. During all the nine days that Germaine was ill 
Lucy came and studied her lessons and did her sewing in the blue room. She even 
wanted to bring the medicines herself and give them to the little sick girl. And 
it wasn’t a very nice dose that Alfred ordered : no indeed : it was a dreadful drink, 
mixed out of all sorts of smelly wild flowers’ juices. 

It made Lucy, when she smelled it, think of the flowery mountain paths 
where they played so much last summer, the kind of paths that bees and children 
always know about. It made even Alfred think of lovely mountain roads, and 
woods and springs, and goats scrambling along the edges of the precipices with 
their tinkling bells. 


ACROSS THE FIELDS 



After breakfast Catherine goes out into the meadows with her little brother 
Jack. When they start out the day is as young and fresh as they are. The sky is 

not exactly blue: it is rather a 
gray, but a gray that is softer than 
all the blues in the world. Cath- 
erine’s eyes are the very same 
gray, and seem made out of a 
piece of the morning sky. 

Catherine and Jack go quite 
alone into the meadows. Their 
mother is a farmer’s wife and has 
work to do at the farm. They 
have no nurse to take them out, 
but then they don’t need one. They 
know the way : they know the 
woods and the fields and the hills 
equally well. Catherine can even 
tell the time of day from seeing where the sun is in the sky, and she has knowledge 
of all kinds of nature’s secrets that city children never dream of. Little Jack him- 
self knows many things about the woods and ponds and mountains, for he has 
the soul of a true little country boy. 

The meadows Catherine and Jack go through are full of flowers, and on the 
way Catherine picks a bouquet of the pretty blossoms. She gathers blue flowers 



A PRES LE DEJEUNER, CATHERINE S’EN 
EST ALLEE DANS LES PRES AVEC JEAN, 
SON PETIT FRERE. QUAND ILS SONT PAR- 
TIS, LE JOUR SEMBLAIT JEUNE ET FRAIS 
COMME EUX. LE CIEL N’ETAIT PAS TOUT 
A FAIT BLEU; IL ETA IT PLUTOT GRIS, MAIS 
D’UN GRIS PLUS DOUX QUE TOUS LES 
BLEUS DU MONDE. 




ACROSS THE FIELDS 


5 

and poppies and cowslips, as well as buttercups, or stew pans as some call them. 
She gathers lots of those long violet flowers, called Venus mirrors, that grow on 
the edge of the wheat fields. She gathers the dark spikes of the milk weed and 
stork’s bills and lilies of the valley, whose little bells give out such a delicious 
odor when stirred by the least bit of wind. Catherine loves the flowers because 
they are beautiful. She loves them too because they make such lovely ornaments. 
She is only a simple little country girl, with her pretty hair hidden under a brown 
cap. Her cotton apron covers a plain little dress, and she wears wooden shoes. The 
only rich costumes she has ever seen are on the images of the Virgin and St. Cath- 



erine in her parish church. But there are things which little girls know from 
the day they are born. Catherine knows that flowers make fine trimmings, and 
that lovely ladies who put bouquets in their corsages look even lovelier for 
doing so. So she thinks she must be very fine indeed just now because she has 
a bouquet as big as her head. Her ideas are as fine and airy as her flowers. There 
are ideas that you can’t put into words : there are no words good enough for them. 
They require tunes and songs, lively and sweet and gay and gentle. So Cath- 
erine sings while she gathers her flowers, bits from her nursery songs : “I’m going 
to the woods alone,” or “My heart I give to him, to him, My heart I give to 
him.” 

Little Jack is a different sort altogether. He has other ideas. He is a regu- 



6 


GIRLS AND BOYS 


lar boy. He isn’t out of petticoats yet, but his spirit is ahead of his years, and 
there’s no spirit finer than that. Though he keeps a good hold on his sister’s apron 
with one hand, for fear of falling, he lays his switch about him with the other 

hand with all the strength of 
a sturdy boy. His father’s 
head workman doesn’t crack 
his whip any louder over his 
horses’ heads when he leads 
them back from the river 
and comes across his sweet- 
heart suddenly on the way. 
Little Jack is not going to 
spend his time in soft sleep 
and dreams. He doesn’t 
care anything about wild 
flowers. For his make-believes he thinks of hard work. He makes believe about 
carts stuck in the muddy roads and percheron horses tugging at their collars as 
he shouts at them and whips them up. 

Catherine and Jack climb up above the fields on the slope of the hill to a little 
knoll where they can see all the fires of the village scattered through the foliage, 
and toward the horizon the steeples of six different parishes. It is a place which 
makes you realize how great the world is. Catherine thinks she can understand 
better now the stories that have been told her about the dove and the ark and 
the people of Israel in the promised land, and of Jesus journeying from one village 
to another. 

“Let’s sit down here,” she says. 

She seats herself, and, spreading her hands, scatters her flowery harvest 
round her. Her little body has been perfumed with them all, and in a moment 
the butterflies are circling round her. She picks and arranges the flowers, and 
makes garlands and crowns of them, and hangs little bells at her ears for ear- 
rings, till she is as ornamental as the image of the Holy Virgin. Little Jack, 
occupied with his imaginary horses, catches sight of her thus dressed up, and at 






DEBOUT SUR SON SOCLE AGRESTE, LE 
PETIT JEAN COMPREND QU’IL EST BEAU. 
DROIT, IMMOBILE, LES YEUX TOUT RONDS. 
LES LkVRES SERREES, LES BRAS PEN- 
DANTS, LES MAINS OUVERTES ET LES 
DOIGTS ECARTES COMME LES RAYONS 
D UNE ROUE, IL GOUTE UNE JOIE PIEUSE 
A SE SENTIR DEVENIR UNE IDOLE. 






* ‘.-A 








ACROSS THE FIELDS 


7 

once is seized with admiration. A pious thought strikes his little soul. He stops, 
and the whip falls from his hands. He sees that she is beautiful. He would like 
to be beautiful too, and covered with flowers. He tries to express his wish in 
his pretty obscure way, and though he feels that he tries in vain, Catherine under- 
stands. Little Catherine is a big sister, and a big sister is a little mother : she 
looks ahead and sees things, with the mother’s sacred instinct. 

“Yes, deary,” cries Catherine, “I’ll make you a beautiful crown and you’ll 
look like a king.” 



So here she is plaiting together blue and red and yellow flowers into a 
chaplet. She puts the crown of flowers on little Jack’s head, and he turns red with 
joy. She puts her arms around him and lifts him off the ground and stands him, 
all covered with flowers, on a great stone near by. She admires him now because 
he is beautiful, and because it is she that has made him so. 

Standing upright on his rustic pedestal little Jack understands that he is 
beautiful and the idea gives him a deep respect for himself. He realizes that he 
is sacred. Stiff, immovable, his eyes round, his lips shut tight, his arms hanging, 
his hands open and his fingers sticking out like the spokes of a wheel, he tastes a 
solemn joy in seeing that he has become an idol. The sky is over his head, the 
woods and the fields are at his feet. He is in the middle of the world. He is 
only good, only beautiful. 


GIRLS AND BOYS 


But suddenly Catherine begins to laugh. 

“Little Jack,” she cries. “You look so funny! Oh, you do look so funny!” 

She jumps at him, puts her arms around him and gives him a shake. The 
heavy crown slips down over his nose. She cries again, “Oh, how funny you 

are ! How funny !” 

She laughs, but little Jack doesn’t 
laugh. He’s sad and surprised that 
everything is over and he’s no longer 
beautiful. Well, he’s a sturdy fellow, 
anyway. He picks up his switch and 
here he is once more steering his six 
make-believe horses out of the ruts. 

Catherine still plays with her flow- 
ers. But some of them are dying, and 
there are others that are going to sleep. 
For flowers need sleep just as animals 
do, and here are the campanulas, 
gathered a few hours before, shutting 
their violet bells and going to sleep in the very hands of the little girl that plucked 
their lives out. 

A light breath stirs in the air, and Catherine shivers. The evening is coming. 

“I’m hungry,” says little Jack. 

But Catherine hasn’t one bit of bread or anything to give her little brother ; 
and so she says : “Let’s go home.” 

And both their thoughts turn at once to the cabbage soup which by this time 
of day is sure to be smoking in the pot hanging from the crane in the centre of 
the great chimney. Catherine gathers her flowers in her arms, and taking her 
little brother by the hand begins to lead him home. 

The sun descends slowly toward the red horizon. The swallows in their 
flight skim near the children with their unmoving wings. The evening has 
come. Catherine and Jack press closer to each other. 

Catherine lets her flowers tumble one by one along the road. In the great 





ILS ETAIENT LAS ET ILS CRAIGNAIENT * ^ 

DE NE JAMAIS AR RIVER DANS LA MAISON 
OU LEUR MERE FAISAIT LA SOUPE POUR 
TOUTE LA FAM1LLE. LE PETIT JEAN N’AGJTAIT 
PLUS SON FOUET ET CATHERINE LAISSA GLIS- 
SER DE SA MAIN FATIGUEE SA DERNIERE FLEUR. 

ELLE TIRAIT SON PETIT FRERE PAR LE BRAS ET 
TOUS DEUX SE TAISAIENT. 






ACROSS THE FIELDS 


9 


silence the children hear the crickets rattle indefatigably. They are afraid, both 
of them, and sad, because the evening’s sadness strikes into their little souls. 
Everything around them is familiar, but they don’t recognize any more the 
things they know the best. It seems all of a sudden as if the world were too big 
and too old for them. They are tired and they fear they shall never get home where 
their mother is making soup for all the family. Little Jack doesn’t ply his whip 
any more. Catherine lets the last flower slip from her tired hands. She takes her 
little brother by the arm and they are both very quiet. 



Finally they see the roof of their home, with its chimney smoking beneath 
the darkening sky. They stop and clap their hands, crying out joyfully. Cath- 
erine hugs her little brother, and then they both begin to run with all the 
strength left in their tired feet. In the villages some women returning from the 
fields wish them good evening. They breathe freely again. Their mother is in 
the doorway, in her white cap, a spoon in her hand. 

“Come along, little ones, come on,” she cries. And they throw themselves into 
her arms. 

Coming into the room where the broth is steaming and sizzling Catherine 
shivers again. She has seen Night come down upon the earth. But Jack, sitting 
on his bench, his chin no higher than the table, is already eating his cabbage soup. 


THE REVIEW 


Rene, Bernard, Roger, James and Stephen think there is nothing finer in the 
world than being a soldier. Francine agrees with them, and wishes she were a 
boy so she could be a soldier too. They hold this very high opinion of soldiers be- 
cause soldiers wear such beautiful uniforms and epaulettes and gold lace and 
glistening swords ; and they know there is still another reason for putting soldiers 



in the front rank of a country’s heroes: soldiers give their lives for their country. 
There is no real greatness in the world but sacrifice, and to sacrifice one’s life is 
the greatest sacrifice of all, since it takes in all the others. That’s why the heart of 
the crowd beats faster when a regiment of soldiers marches by. 

Rene is the general. He wears a double cocked hat and rides a war horse 
His hat is paper and his horse is a chair. His army is composed of a drum major 




RENE, BERNARD, ROGER, JACQUES 
ET ETIENNE ESTIMENT QU’IL N’Y A 
RIEN DE PLUS BEAU AU MONDE QUE 
DETREMILITAIRE. CATHERINE PENSE 
COMME EUX, ET ELLE VOUDRAIT 
ETRE UN GARQON POUR DEVENIR UN 
SOLDAT. 













































THE REVIEW 


1 1 



and four soldiers, one of them a girl. “Carry arms! Forward! March !” he cries, 
and the parade begins. Francine and Roger look exactly the same under arms. 
James, to be sure, holds his gun languidly in his arms, because his is a melancholy 
soul. There’s no use reproaching him. Dreamers can be brave just as much as 
those who never dream. But his little brother Stephen, the smallest man in the 
regiment, remains quiet and thoughtful. He has ambition and wants to be gen- 
eral himself, at once. He studies over this problem, full of care. 

“Forward! Forward!” cries 
Rene. “We’ll go and attack the 
Chinese in the dining room.” The 
Chinese are the chairs. When one 
is playing war chairs make very 
good Chinese. They tumble down, 



and that’s just the thing the Chinese do the best. When all the chairs have their 
heels in the air Rene cries : “Soldiers, now that we have vanquished the Chinese 
we’ll go and eat something.” The idea is favorably received by the whole army. 
Soldiers always have to eat. This time the commissariat has supplied extra 
healthy rations — currant cakes, lady-fingers, chocolate and coffee eclairs, goose- 
berry jam. The army devours everything. Only the gloomy Stephen doesn’t eat. 
He looks with envy at the sword and cocked hat that the general has left on a chair. 
He edges up to them, takes possession of them and slips into the next room. There, 
all alone, he puts on the hat before a mirror and brandishes the sword. He is 
general — a general without an army, for himself alone. He tastes the full pleas- 
ure of his ambition, full though it is of vague forebodings and distant hopes. 


DEAD LEAVES 


Autumn is here. The wind that whistles through the 
trees sets the dead leaves whirling. The chestnut trees, al- 
1 ready stripped, rear their black skeletons in the air. All the 

leaves of the beeches and the horn beams or ironwoods are 
falling too. The birches and the aspens have turned to gold, 
and only one old oak still keeps its green crown. 

The morning is fresh — a keen wind stirs the gray sky 
and reddens the children’s fingers. Peter, Babette, and Jenny 
are going off to gather dead leaves, the leaves which only a 
little while ago were all alive with ruddiness and the singing 
of birds, but which now cover the ground with millions of 
their little dry bodies. But even dead they seem good. They 
make good litter for Riquette the goat and Rousette the cow. 

Peter has brought his basket like a little man. Babette 
has taken a sack: she’s a little woman. Jacky follows with 
the wheelbarrow. They go down the hill on the run. At 
the edge of the wood they meet other village children, too, 
who have come to lay in a supply of dead leaves for the 
winter. It isn’t play: it’s work. 

But don’t think these children are sad because they 
work. Work is serious, but not sad. Very often even one 
pretends to work in fun, and are not children’s amusements, most of them, imita- 
tions of the work their elders do? 









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PIERRE, BABET ET JEANNOT VONT RAMASSER 
LES FEUILLES MORTES, LES FEUILLES QUI 
NAGUERE, DU TEMPS QU'ELLES VIVAIENT, 
ETAIENT PLEINES DE ROSEE ET DE CHANTS 
D’OISEAUX ET QUI MAINTENANT COUVRENT PAR 
MILLIERS LE SOL DE LEURS PETITS CADAVRES 
DESSECHES. 











DEAD LEAVES 


13 


So here are these children at work. The boys do 
their task in silence, because they are already little peas- 
ants and peasants don’t talk much. But that isn’t the 
way with peasant women. Our little girls’ tongues wag 
the whole time they are filling the sacks and baskets. 

In the meantime the mounting sun has made the 
fields warm and sweet. From the roofs of the hamlets 
rise little wreaths of smoke as light as breaths, telling of 
the good pea soup that’s cooking in the kettles. One 
more armful of dead leaves and the little workmen seek 
again the road to the village. The ascent of the hill is 
hard. Bowing beneath their sacks and bending over the 
wheelbarrow they grow warm, and the sweat starts on 
their brows. Pe'er, Babette and Jacky stop to pufif and 
catch their breath. 

But the thought of that good pea soup gives them 
courage. Shoving and panting they arrive at last. Their 
mother, who waits for them at the door step, calls out 
to them: “Hurry, children, the soup is steaming!” 

Our little friends find it very good. There is no soup 
so good as the kind you work for. 



SUZANNE 



The Louvre, in Paris, as you know, is a museum where many very old and beau- 
tiful things have been pre- 
served — and very rightly 
too, for both age and beauty 
should be venerated. Now 
one of the loveliest of the 
antiquities of the Louvre is 
a piece of marble, worn and 
broken in many places, but 
still showing its subject dis- 
tinctly — two young girls 
each holding a flower in her 
hand. They are two beau- 
tiful little creatures — young 
with the eternal youth of 
Greece which was the age 
of perfect beauty. The 
sculptor who long ago made these two figures shows them in profile, each pre- 
senting to the other one of those lotus flowers which people at that time regarded 
as sacred, because from the blue chalice, they breathed, it was thought, forget- 
fulness of all the evil things of life. Our learned critics have paid a good deal of 
attention to these two young girls. They have consulted on the subject many 













SUZANNE SONGE QUE C’EST 


AUJOURD’HUI LA F1STE DE SON 


AMIE JACQUELINE, C’EST POUR 


QUOI ELLE VA CUEILLIR DES 


FLEURS QU’ELLE DONNERA A 


JACQUELINE AVEC DES BAISERS 




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SUZANNE 


15 


big books bound in parchment or calf, some even in pigskin ; but they have never 
discovered just why these two little girls hold flowers in their hands. 

What they have not discovered after all their labor and meditation and toil 
and growing pale little Miss Suzanne found out at once. 

Her father took her to the Louvre, where he had some business. Little 
Suzanne regarded the antiques with some surprise, and seeing gods who had lost 
their legs and arms and heads, she said to herself : “Ah, ha, all these are the 
learned gentlemen’s dolls, and I see that the gentlemen break their dolls just as 
children do.” But when she came to the two little girls who held the flowers, she 
blew a kiss to them, because she thought them so pretty. Her father asked her 

then: “Why do they each 
offer a flower to the other ?” 

“To wish each other a 
happy birthday,” said Su- 
zanne. 

Then, thinking it over 
a moment, she added: 



“Their birthdays are the same, they are just like each other, and they are giv- 
ing each other the same flower. They’re friends, and must have the same 
birthday.” 

Now Suzanne is far away from the Louvre and its ancient marbles, in the 
Kingdom of birds and flowers. She spends the lovely clear days of Spring in 
the fields at the edge of the woods. She plays in the grass and makes up the 
loveliest games. She pretends that it is her friend Jacqueline’s birthday, and 
she is gathering flowers that she’s going to give to Jacqueline with a kiss. 


FISHING 


John starts out very early in the morning with his sister Jenny, his pole on 
his shoulder and a basket on his arm. School is closed, and vacation time is here, 
which is the reason John and Jenny go every day, pole on shoulder, and basket 
on arm, along the river. John is a native of Touraine, and so is Jenny, and so is 

the river, which flows clear beneath 
its silvery willows. A moist soft sky 
it. Morning and even- 



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ing white vapors spread over the grass 
on its banks. But Jack and Jenny love 

the river, not for the green leaves along its borders, nor for its clear water that 
the sky shines in, but for the fish that are in it. They stop at the best fishing 
place. Jenny sits down beneath a topped off willow tree. Jack, having put his 
baskets on the ground, unwinds his fishing tackle. It’s a very simple one: a 
long switch, with a long string and a bent pin on the end of it. Jack supplied the 
switch, Jenny the thread and pin : the line thus belongs equally both to brother 











ILS S’ARRETENT A L’ENDROIT LE PLUS POISSONNEUX : 
JEANNE S’ASSIED SOUS UN SAULE ETETE. AYANT POSE 
SES PANIERS A TERRE, JEAN DEROULE SA LIGNE. ELLE 
EST SIMPLE : UNE GAULE, AVEC UN FIL ET UNE EPINGLE 
RECOURBEE AU BOUT DU FIL. JEAN A FOURNI LA GAULE. 
JEANNE A DONNE LE FIL ET L'EPINGLE; AUSSI LA LIGNE 
EST-ELLE COMMUNE AU FRERE ET A LA SCEUR. 
































































































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FISHING 


1 7 



and sister. Each would like to have it all, and so the simple contrivance which 
need not have scared anything but a fish, has been the cause of many domestic 
quarrels and the giving of many thumps on the peaceful river banks. Brother and 
sister have struggled often for the free use of the line. Jack’s arm is black and 
blue from being pinched, ahd Jenny’s cheek is purple from resounding thwacks. 
But when they are tired of pinches and smacks Jack and Jenny consent to share 
in good faith that which neither one nor the other has been able wholly to ap- 
propriate by force. They arrange that 
the line shall go alternately to brother or 
sister after the catching of each fish. 




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Jack has it first. There is no telling when he’ll be through with it. He 
doesn’t openly violate the treaty, but he nullifies the effect of it by a certain flagrant 
abuse. In order not to surrender the line to his sister he refuses to pull in the 
fish that offers himself, nibbling the hook and making the cork bob. 

Jack is wily, Jenny is patient. For six hours she has waited often during 
this performance. This time, however, she seems tired of her long idleness. She 
yawns, stretches, lies down in the shadow of the willow and lets her eyelids close. 
Jack spies on her out of the corner of his eyes, and believes she has gone to sleep. 
The cork plunges. He pulls the string briskly, and on the end there glistens a bit 
of silver lightning. A silly gudgeon has caught himself on the hook. 

“Oh, then, it’s mine now!” Jack hears a voice cry behind him. And Jenny 
seizes the tackle. 


BIG BOY’S FAULTS 



It was to see their friend Jack that Roger, Marcel, Bernard, James and 
Stephen one day took the great national route that unrolls itself like a yellow 
ribbon along the fields and meadows. 

Here they are starting off. They move forward in one row. One couldn’t 

leave in any better order. However, 
there’s one trouble : Stephen is too little. 
He exerts himself and hastens his steps; 
he stretches his short legs as wide as 


M- 


possible; he waves his arms to make them bigger. But he is too little: he can’t 
keep up with his friends. He falls behind because he is too little. It’s fate. 

The big, older boys ought to wait for him, of course, and regulate their steps 
by his. They ought to, but they don’t. “Forward, march !” cry the strong people 
of the world, and leave the feeble ones behind. But listen to the end of this story. 
Suddenly our big boys, our four gallants, come to a stop. They have spied on 
the ground a little beast that jumps. The little animal jumps because it’s a 





ETIENNE EST TROP PETIT : IL 
S’EFFORCE, IL HATE LE PAS. IL 
OUVRE TOUT GRAND SES COURTES 
JAMBES. IL AGITE SES BRAS PAR 
SURCROIT, MAIS IL EST TROP PETIT, 
IL NE PEUT PAS SUIVRE SES AMIS. 

N. 

















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BIG BOY’S FAULTS 


19 

frog, and wants to get into the meadow that runs along the road. The meadow 
is its native land and very dear to it. Its home is there by a little stream. It jumps. 

It is green, and looks something like a living leaf. Bernard, Roger, James 
and Marcel fall in pursuit at once. Here they are in the meadow: soon they 
feel their feet sink in the tVet earth that nourishes the thick grass. A few more 
steps and they are stuck in the mud up to their knees. The grass hides a bog. 
They extricate themselves with difficulty. Their shoes, their socks, their 



calves are black. It is the nymph of the green meadow who has 

put mud leggings on the four disobedient boys. 

Stephen joins them all out of breath. He doesn’t know, when he sees them 
thus booted, whether to laugh or cry for them. He reflects, in his innocent 
little soul, on the catastrophes that strike the great and strong. As to the four 
mud-legginged ones, they retrace their steps pathetically, for how could they go 
in such a get-up, if you please, to see their friend Jack? When they come home 
again their mothers read their fault in their legs, whereas the goodness of little 
Stephen shows in his clean and sturdy calves. 


baa.. 


THE LITTLE DINNER 



It’s an awfully pretty thing, a little dinner. You can have it very simple 
or very complicated, as you prefer. You can have it even without anything at 
all. But in that case you must have imagination. 

Therese and her little sister Pauline have invited Peter and Martha to a 
little dinner in the country. It’s a quite 
formal dinner. They have discussed it 
for a long time beforehand. The mother 
of the two sisters has given them ad- 






"'T 






— : — 


vice — she has contributed delicacies too. There are 
going to be nougats and eclairs and a chocolate cream 
The table is going to be set beneath the grape arbour. 
“If only it doesn’t rain!” cries Therese, who is nine years old. At her age 
one knows that the sweetest hopes are often disappointed in this world, and that 



PIERRE DECOUPE GALAMMENT. LE 
NEZ DANS L'ASSIETTE ET LES COUDES 
PAR-DESSUS LA T&TE, IL DIVISE AVEC 
EFFORT UNE CUISSE DE POULET. IL 
N’Y A PAS JUSQU’A SES PIEDS QUI NE 
PARTIC1PENT A SON ACTION. C’EST QUE 
PIERRE EST UN GATLLARD ENERGIQUE. 


3K- 






























































THE LITTLE DINNER 


21 


one can’t always do what one would like. But little Pauline isn’t troubled that 
way. She doesn’t know how to anticipate bad weather. The weather will be 
all right — she wishes it; and sure enough here is the day of the dinner dawning 
clear and bright — not a shadow in the sky. The two guests have come. Such 
luck! For that was another subject of anxiety for Therese. Martha had a cold, 
and you couldn’t help worrying for fear she wouldn’t be well in time. And as 
for little Peter everybody knows he always misses the car. You can’t reproach 
him for it. It’s his misfortune, not his fault. His mother is just naturally un- 
punctual. Everywhere, always, little Peter 
arrives the last : he’s never seen the beginning of 
anything. It’s all given him an air of dullness 
and resignation. 

By an extraordinary chance he has come 
punctually for the invitation of the two sisters. 
This time his mother didn’t miss the train: 
she made a mistake in the hour! 

The table is set. All ready for the dinner ! 
Therese is to serve. She is thoughtful and 
serious, the instincts of housekeeping awak- 
ing already in her heart. Peter carves gallantly. 
His nose in his plate, his elbows as high as his 
head, he divides with great effort a side bone 
of chicken. Every part of him, even down to 
his legs, is brought into action. Peter is certainly an energetic little fellow. Miss 
Martha eats very elegantly, without much moving round, or any noise, like ladies. 
Pauline follows suit, but with less style. She eats as she can and as much as she can. 

Therese, sometimes servant, sometimes guest, is very content with things, 
and contentment is more than joy. The little dog, Gyp, has come to eat the 
leavings, and Therese reflects, seeing him crunch his bones, that dogs have never 
discovered all the delicacies that make the feasts of men and the little dinners 
of children so exquisite. 



THE ARTIST 


Michael is the son of a painter. He has seen his father make on canvas 
wonderful pictures of men and animals, imitating the colors of the earth, the sea, 



which are the two halves of genius, 
will become as great a painter as his 


the sky and all nature. He has seen his 
father paint lovingly ladies whose gaze 
and lips seemed like flame and rose and 
who smiled at you all in white. “When 
I am grown up,” says little Michael, “I 
shan’t paint ladies. I shall paint horses : 
it’s much finer.” 

And already he busies himself in- 
venting the finest beasts he can imagine. 
But the horses that grow under his 
fingers have this particular thing about 
them — that they don’t look at all like 
horses. They look more like four-legged 
ostriches. It’s very hard to paint. 

However, Michael makes great 
progress, and now when you see his 
drawings you guess pretty nearly what 
they are meant to represent. He draws 
every day. He has patience and love, 
Time will do the rest, and perhaps Michael 
father. Yesterday he covered a sheet of 






MICHEL FAIT DE GRANDS PROGRES, ET MAINTENANT EN VO Y ANT SES 
DESSINS ON DEVINE A PEU PRES CE QU’ILS REPRESENTENT. IL DESSINE 
TOUS LES JOURS. IL A LA PATIENCE ET L’AMOUR, CE SONT LES DEUX 
MOITIES DU G&NIE. 




, — vn 











THE ARTIST 


23 


school paper with a beautiful composition. It represented a gentleman with a 
cane in his hand, taking a walk by the seashore. Except that his arms come out 
of his breast the gentleman is very well made. He has four buttons on his 
coat: it’s really perfect. Near .by is a tree, in the distance a boat. The gentle- 
man has the air of taking the boat in his hand and of wanting to swallow the 
tree. It’s just an error in per- 
spective : one finds it even in the 
best masters. 

To-day Michael achieves a 
still greater composition. There 
are men and boats and windmills 
in it. He has put his very best in 
this great work. It seems to him 
the boats actually float upon the 
sea, and the wings of the mills 
really turn round. He admires 
himself. He glor-ifies himself 
upon his work like a real artist, 
and enjoys creation after the 
manner of God. 

And yet, he doesn’t dream of the cat that plays at his feet with a ball of 
yarn. The moment Michael leaves the room, the little cat will jump on the table, 
and with one blow of its white paw upset the ink and spill it on his papers. 
Thus the masterpiece of Michael will perish. The creator of it will be very sad 
at first. But soon he will make a new masterpiece to repair the injury of the 
little cat and of destiny. Thus talent gets the best of bad fortune. 



JACQUELINE AND MIRAUT 



Jacqueline and Miraut are old friends. Jacqueline is a little girl and Miraut 
is a big dog. They are of the same world — they are both country people. That’s 
what has made their great intimac\ flow long have they known each other? 
They don’t know : that’s beyond the memory of a dog and a little girl. Besides, 

they don’t need to know. They have 
no wish or need to know anything. 
Their only idea is that they have 
known each other a long time, since 
the very beginning of things, for 
they don’t dream, either of them, 
that the universe has existed before 
them. The world, as they conceive 
it, is young, simple and naive, as 
they are themselves. Jacqueline sees 
Miraut and Miraut Jacqueline, all 
in a lovely setting here in the world. 

Miraut is much bigger and 
stronger than Jacqueline. When he 
puts his forepaws on the child’s 
shoulders he towers head and breast above her. He could eat her up in three 
mouthfuls, if he liked. But he knows, he feels, that a certain force is in her, and 
that, little though she is, she is precious. He admires and loves her. He licks 
her face from sheer sympathy. Jacqueline loves him because he is strong and 



\ 









' ■ 

. 



JACQUELINE ET MIRAUT SONT DE VIEUX AMIS. 
JACQUELINE EST UNE PETITE FILLE ET MIRAUT EST 
UN GROS CHIEN : ILS SONT DU MEME MONDE, ILS 
SONT TOUS DEUX RUSTIQUES; DE LA LEUR INTI MITE 
PROFONDE. DEPUIS QUAND SE CONNAISSENT-ILS? 






-A 


ILS NE LE SAVENT PLUS; CELA PASSE LA MEMOIRE 


•r'A v- 






D’UN CHIEN ET CELLE D’UNE PETITE FILLE. 






JACQUELINE AND MIRAUT 25 

good. She has a sentiment of great respect for him. She has discovered that 
he knows many secrets that she doesn’t, and that the obscure genius of the earth 
is in him. He seems enormous, grave and sweet. She venerates him, as under 
another sky, in ancient times, men venerated other shaggy, rural gods. 



But here she is all of a sudden surprised, astonished and disturbed. She 
has found her old earth genius, her shaggy God Miraut, tied by a long chain to 
a tree near the edge of the well. She stops, wondering, and hesitates. Miraut 
looks at her with his good, honest, patient eyes. Not knowing that he is an 
earth genius and a shaggy god he submits to his collar and chain without anger. 
But Jacqueline is afraid to go nearer to him. She can not understand that her 
divine and mysterious friend is a captive, and a vague sadness fills her little soul. 











CT 27 1913 










library of congress 


0002Hfl^40fl3 






